What is the Color of Love?
by XxCheshireSmilexX
Summary: Dahlia Collins lives in a dull colorless life. She has only one close friend who truly cares about her. She only has one parent who does love her, but is awfully distant. Her life was uneventful and boring; that is, until she meets Steve Randle. She hopes Steve can bring color into her life. But there is one problem, Evie. She's mean and used to getting what she wants. ON HOLD
1. Chapter 1: Real Wild Child

**A/N: Hey guys. I know I should be updating More than friends, Darling, but I really dislike that story. For those of you who read it, I'm not giving up on it, and I just need a break from it because i personally think I could've done much better with it. This story is What it the Color of Love! I'm very proud of this chapter, I feel like it's pretty good. It is in first person, and the main character is Dahlia Collins.** **I am doing a song for every chapter. Why? Because I just sort of felt like it. My chapters for this story are pretty long so far, just a warning.**

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders, they rightfully belong to Miss Hinton. I do not own the song Real Wild Child by Iggy Pop either. (yes, that is the song from the movie, only this is a cover by Iggy Pop that I feel captures this chapter better)

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_Gonna meet all my friends  
Gonna have ourselves a ball  
Gonna tell all my friends  
Gonna tell them all  
That I'm a wild one  
Ooh yeah I'm a wild one_

Chapter One: Dahlia Collins

I entered the DX station slowly, fighting past the swarms of girls smothering the boy at the counter. I never made trips in here often, mainly because of all these girls. I ain't like all them other girls. I knew this boy was cute, but hell, not that cute. Maybe if I could see colors, he'd be cuter.

I grabbed a Coke and a bag of chips off the shelves and made my way to the counter. I had to nearly fight my way through the crowd. I put my things on the counter and the boy rang me up. Yeah, he was cute, he'd probably be even cuter if I knew what color his eyes were, or what color his hair was.

"Is this it?" he asked with a smile.

I pointed to a package of Kools cigarettes. He nodded and grabbed a carton. I was glad this station didn't check ID's or anything. He put the cigarettes on the total.

"That'll be $3.1o" he said. Damn, cigarettes were awfully expensive, but they were good. They were calming, and good for when you need to look tough. Before I could fish out all my money a boy walked up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey buddy, you seen Seth?" this boy asked. He glanced at me, but quickly turned back to the cashier. I noticed her had dark hair, I couldn't tell the color, but it was dark. Probably black, if not a very dark brown. He wore a blue DX shirt unbuttoned; at least I thought it was blue, that's what I remember it being. He had a nice build to him, that's for sure. He had dark stains all over his hands, arms, torso, and even some on his face; oil I was assuming.

"No, not all, why?" the cashier asked.

"His car ain't going to be done for a while an' I told 'em it'd be done soon," he said.

"Oh alright, well if I see him, I'll tell 'em to wait a little bit," the cashier said.

"Do you want help?" I blurted. I immediately clamped my mouth tightly shut. The two boys stared at me.

"I don't need no help," car boy spat at me.

"My apologies," I said and threw my money on the counter. I fought through the crowd of girls again, trying to escape the gas station.

I started walking down the street slowly. Guys don't think girls can work on cars. I guess most ain't got the slightest clue where the mufflers and carburetors are on a car let alone change their oil or even change a tire. I used to look at cars when I was little. One day I opened up the hood and I was amazed. I asked my dad if he'd teach me. He agreed completely. My dad had a thing for cars when he was younger. He seemed very pleased when I asked him, come to think of it.

Mama said it was un-lady-like to work on cars. Dad and I still did it though. When Mama ran off, Dad stopped working on cars with me. But I didn't give up just because she ran off; I had learned a few things off the streets about cars. I was so young when she ran away, though, so Dad didn't teach me all he knew. I think part of me only works on cars in spite of Mama. I wasn't exactly a car whiz, but I knew plenty, especially though for a girl.

I pulled my carton of cigarettes out of my jacket pocket. I stared at it terribly hard. I was hoping that if I stared hard enough at things, colors would reappear. They never did though. I wished I could go back to when I could see colors. But I couldn't; that's all part of 'life isn't fair' I guess.

I gave up and just lit one. I took a long sloe drag on it. I looked around wondering where I should go the day before school starts. I thought about catching a movie, but quickly thought against it. I go to the movies a lot, but I hardly can sit through the whole thing. I usually get antsy and need to talk or move. That's why when I go to see a movie, I go to a drive in so I can talk to people and walk around.

It seemed like everything to do had been done. I thought about hanging out with Amy. Amy was good buddy of mine. She was a middle class girl and always played it safe. Never smoked, never drank. I didn't know how or why we were friends, but we were.

I thought maybe it was because she didn't judge people. If someone smoked, she didn't think anything different about them. If someone drank, she didn't care. If something bad happened in town, she didn't immediately assume it was greasers.

I decided that I'd walk to her house and hang out for a little bit. Her mom didn't like me all too well. She preferred Amy to hang out with socs over greasers. I didn't always consider myself I greaser, though; I was just a poor girl. I didn't even really have a gang.

On the other hand, I dressed like a greaser. Tight jeans, leather or jean jacket, old shoes, poofy hair. I smoked and drank too. But unlike other greasers, I didn't get in fights all the time, and I don't throw myself on all kinds of guys.

I reached Amy's house and knocked on the door as politely as I could. I didn't know why I bothered; her mom would prefer a classy rich soc over a greaser as Amy's friend any day. What adult wouldn't?

I was relieved when Amy answered the door and not her mom. "Hi, Dahlia," she said with a smile.

"Hi, Amy," I replied with a small smile.

She walked out of her house and shut the door behind her. I took the time to light another cigarette. Amy looked at it emotionlessly. "Dahlia, you better put that out before my Mama sees," she said bluntly.

"Let's go somewhere else then," I said with a shrug. I didn't see any reason to waste a perfectly good catch stick.

Amy Shrugged back and we both started walking. We were just walking through the neighborhood, nowhere in particular. We were silent the whole time too. I wasn't the kind who seeks company to talk. I sought out company simply for the company. But eventually I asked her the questions I always did when I was with Amy. "Amy, what color is my hair?" I asked.

She looked at me for a second. "Same color it was last time, brown," she said. She was the only one I told about my color blindness.

"What color are my eyes?" I asked.

"Same they were last time," she said.

"Chocolate colored?" I asked.

"Yeah. Dahlia, are you ever afraid of forgetting what colors look like?" she asked.

It always surprised me how Amy knew my fears. Well, maybe not know them, but she asked right questions. "Yeah, yeah I am," I admitted. Amy was the only person who knew things like that.

After living like I do, I learned to be tough. After Mama left and Dad became distant to life, I was on my own. I was only eight then.

"Have you forgotten any yet?" Amy asked through squinted eyes. The sun was blinding.

"Probably," I said with a shrug.

"What do you mean 'probably'?" Amy asked quizzically.

"Well, I mean, I probably don't remember the exact shade of red of a stop sign, or if you told me that car is a reddish-orange, who knows if I'm imagining the right color?" I said. It was the truth. Maybe when someone said green, I wasn't even imagining green.

"Boy that sucks. You wanna go to Mac's Diner for a bite?" Amy asked, gesturing to the restaurant.

"Sure," I obliged. We turned onto the main road towards the diner.

"Did you get your schedule for school yet?" Amy asked, looking on either side of the road.

"Yeah," I said just walking across.

"Who do you have?" she inquired, catching up to me.

"Oh, I don't know. I have break after 3rd hour though. I have theatre 5th hour, but I'm probably going to skip that class most of the time. I don't know why I even signed up for it," I said with a sigh.

"That's a drag. I have break after 4th hour and I didn't take theatre," Amy said.

"Well, what did you take?" I asked her.

"Art," she said plainly.

I nodded. I would never be able to take art. I'd never get the colors right. Hell, if I took art, everyone would know I was color blind and I don't need that.

"You could've taken band or something," Amy said.

"I ain't for band geeks," I mumbled.

"But you can play guitar," Amy protested. She had a point. I had an old beat up six-string. My dad had bought it for me when I was seven. It was too big for me then. He had told me, "Honey, I want you to learn how to play this. For some people, it's the only thing that keeps people sane."

Now, I see people living on the streets and a lot of them have harmonicas or guitars. I figure knowing how to play kept them sane. By ten I had known enough chords to have fun with it, which I did.

"Yeah but that's the thing, I already know how. Besides, band music sucks, I like real songs that are fun to play," I said, opening the door to the diner.

"Yeah, I guess," Amy said walking in behind me. Some guy took us to our table and gave us menus. We were quiet for a while; I was okay with it though. Amy and I didn't really need to talk; we enjoy each other's company. I noticed the diner was full of mostly teenagers. They were all probably relishing the last day of summer as Amy and I were. The same boy took our order and claimed it'd be out soon.

"What would you do if you ever came into a bunch of money?" Amy asked curiously.

What would I do? I thought for a long while about it, long enough that Amy thought I wasn't going to answer her. I sometimes didn't, I didn't do it on purpose, I just sometimes didn't hear her, or acknowledge the question. "I don't really know. What would you do?" I asked.

"Oh I'd buy all I could. Nice clothes, nice car, nice house, nice everything," Amy said, surprised that I didn't say that.

"I guess if I came into money like that I wouldn't know what to do with it," I said with a shrug. As I said this our food came out and Amy immediately started to eat her fries.

"Well wouldn't you buy new things? Wouldn't you buy nice clothes?" Amy asked between bites.

"I kinda like this fashion. Why buy expensive clothes that aren't even nice looking when a t-shirt and leather jacket work out just fine? Or, why go out and buy name brand things when the cheaper stuff works out just fine? I admit I would like a nice and new car, but other than that…." I said, not bothering to finish off the sentence.

"I guess you're right, huh?" Amy said staring down at her cheeseburger. "You like being a greaser don't you?" she asked suddenly.

"Well, now, I ain't really a greaser am i?" I asked in a almost rhetorical voice.

"Are you a soc?"

"Nope," I said leaning my chair back on two legs.

"Are you middle class?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

"Nope, nope," I said dropping my chair suddenly back on two legs.

"So what's left?" she asked.

"Not necessarily a greaser. Just because you're poor doesn't make you a greaser," I said.

"Oh really?" Amy asked cocking up one eyebrow. "'Round here it does. Besides, you have other friends who proudly consider themselves greasers," she said.

"Well it ain't like I got a gang or nothing," I said a little too sharply.

"Whatever," she said.

XxX

I went home a little after Amy's older brother swung by saying her mom was looking for her. When I cam ein the door I saw my dad mulling over some papers, beer bottles scattering his desk. I silently hoped they all weren't from today.

"Hey, kid," he said gruffly.

"Hey, Dad," I said quietly, trying to adjust to the dim light. Dad liked to work in really low light, I never understood why.

"You're home early he remarked, not looking up from his papers. He was a lawyer. He went to a little law school but didn't follow through. He's stuck with what he calls a "street lawyer". People hire him off the streets if they can't get a real lawyer. But that way he hardly gets paid at all. I didn't know why he didn't go out and look for a real job.

"Yeah I didn't feel like hangin' around town," I said with a shrug heading towards my bedroom.

"Well that's good; you got school tomorrow," I heard him say as I slid into my room.

I looked at my backpack leaning against my door frame. Boy, I didn't want to go to school. Hell, I was thinking of dropping out. Dad wouldn't let me though. He has hopes of me going to college and what not. Do better than him kind of thing.

I didn't make good grades or anything. College on a scholarship was out of the question, and I wasn't good at sports either. I think dad knew that he couldn't put me through college, but he held onto some hope. Little hope.

I shook my head to clear it and mellow out. I picked up my acoustic guitar out of the corner of the room and sat back down on my bed. I strummed a few chords, no song in mind.

Sometimes I played songs, I knew a lot, even some Beatles. I couldn't sing all too great though, so I never played songs all the way through.

While I was playing I thought about how school was going to play out for me this year. I thought I should try and not be such a smart ass. I was going to be a junior after all. Part of me said I should take school more seriously. The other part of me said I had time to shape up for life.

_Gotta break it loose_  
_Gonna keep 'em movin' wild_  
_Gonna keep 'em swingin' baby_  
_I'm a real wild child_

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**A/N: Well I would love to hear what you all think! I know that the grammar isn't perfect in the dialogue, but that is only to further capture the way I imagined them talking with the accents and what not. Read and Review! I'll take any questions you have (like if you are confused about something).  
Until next time! (:**


	2. Chapter 2: Magic Bus

**A.N: Well, sorry for my absence. It's a long story, but i'll save some time by saying that I'm simply back. Unfortunately, I have some bad news that I'm sorry to have to say. I'm putting this story on hold after this chapter. I started rewriting my other story (A Little More Than Friends, Darling) and I needed to shove all my other stories aside to work on that one. The goal is that while this story is on hold, I can fix up the plot and make it perfect.** **In the meantime while this is on hold, I'm not against you guys checking out my other story (;**

**So, now that all that's out of the way... I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! For any one who doesn't like OC's all that much, please dismiss this story. Since its in school, I had to take the time and create other characters. I'd like to thank the reviews I got, they meant a lot!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders and the song Magic Bus by The Who (okay, so the song doesn't really 'fit' the chapter, but it's presumed to be about a bus, so it seemed somewhat appropriate).**

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_Every day I get in the queue  
Too much! Magic Bus!  
To get on the bus that takes me to you  
Too much! Magic Bus!  
I'm so nervous, I just sit and smile  
Too much! Magic Bus!  
Your house is only another mile  
Too much! Magic Bus!_

**Chapter** One-

I walked into Will Rogers High, and honestly, I felt pretty great. I liked the fact that I was close to the top. I felt almost superior; almost superior watching the little scramble around. They reminded me of a little innocent boy walking into a big and bad bar, wide-eyed and unsure what to do.

Of course, my good feeling vanished as I saw kids greeting each other happily, and mine were nowhere to be seen. I hadn't seen any of them for so long. Maybe they've all changed, I thought sadly. They weren't exactly my close friends or anything, and we weren't all in an official gang, but they were friends.

One of them was Smokes. He got his name because of his features. He had grey eyes, black, almost dark grey hair, and even his skin appeared to have a grey tint to it. He was always wearing a black leather jacket and blue jeans. Always. He was nice to people he knew, vicious to the ones he didn't.

I had another friend, but I wasn't very close to her, or at least tried not to be. Angela Shepard was Tim and Curly's sister. She was the definition of greaser girl. She wore too much make-up for sure, she was loud, and smoked and drank too much. Not to mention she was tough and used to getting what she wanted, too. If she wanted to date a guy, they dated. If she wanted someone to get her booze, someone got her booze.

I had a few other friends, J.J., Ava, Charlie. Amy was probably my closest friend though, but we never had classes together 'cause she was a helluva lot smarter than me when it came to school. I beat her when it came to street smarts though. One of the great joys of bumming around the streets of Tulsa.

I finally managed my way to my first hour. I had English class with Mrs. Flyn. I heard she was a bad teacher too. Great way to start out school.

To my dismay I was one of the first kids on the class. As I expected it was mostly greasers. There was one or two middle class kids, whom I just called halfies, even a soc. That happens though, not all socs are really smart, just as not all greasers are dumb. That's just really stereotypical.

The bell rang and I could already tell at least half of the class was missing. No surprise really. A teacher scurried into the room. "Take your seats," she snapped sharply to some kids still standing in the isles. Most of the kids just glared at her before taking a seat in the back.

Those were the mean hoods. The ones that drink and smoke and commit all kids of crimes and pickup girls every night. I didn't care for those kids any less than the next though. The seat next to mine was still empty and I hoped it would stay that way until a familiar face came into the room. "Okay, now that's settled, I'm your English teacher for the year," she said almost resentfully. "I'm Mrs. Flyn," she started.

"Mrs.? So you're married? Damn," some kid joked, followed by the class snickering. Flyn continued talking, ignoring the comment, and I ignored her drone.

As I expected, slowly but surely kids filled in. Still, no one I really knew. No problem, I'll just get to know more people, I thought sarcastically. People at this age rarely made new friends; they stuck with who they had. Not to mention, talking ain't my specialty.

I stared out the window, a great pass time of mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone sit down. I turned toward the person and saw long, black curls atop a pretty little head, none other than Angela Shepard.

"Well, I'll be damned, it's Dahlia Collins!" she exclaimed looking me up and down.

"That'd be I," I said bluntly.

She gave a small smile, which faded quickly. She tossed her black, or dark brown, I couldn't remember, locks then returned her eyes to me. "Where've you been all summer?" she asked.

"I ain't been anywhere. I would just bum around," I said with a shrug.

"Huh, wonders how I ain't seen you 'round. I spent most of my time at Buck Merril's. You know, he was throwin' parties every Friday and Saturday at the beginning of summer, but after a while he was throwin' em damn near every other night!" she said. She was rambling.

"Ahem, ladies," Flyn said.

Angela glared at her and I rolled my eyes.

Angela returned to talking to me but quieter now. "He's thinking of keeping it going on with the parties, even during school. I don't blame him. He's 2o I think, and you can bet if I wasn't in school, I would be havin' parties every night." She paused for a moment, then asked, "Have you ever been to one of his parties?"

"I've been by, never in," I said.

She stared at me, slightly confused, then proceeded talking. I didn't know why she was talking to me so much. We were friends sure, but far from close. "You and me should go to one sometime. I need new friends, all my other ones got steady boyfriends and left me," she said. This didn't surprise me though, many of her other friends were much older than her and needed to settle down with a boy.

Nonetheless, I couldn't believe my ears. I heard a touch of sadness in her voice. "Yeah, I don't know, maybe," I said, returning my gaze out the window.

The bell rang and the kids quickly walked out in an unorganized mob. I pulled My schedule out of my pocket to see where I was going to next. I had French, which was all the way upstairs. I figured I had time to lose since they weren't counting tardies yet.

I found my friend Ava in the hallway. Ava was fairly short for her age and I think she was done growing too. She had stick straight bright hair. It was blond I think.

"Hey, Ava," I said.

"Hey, Dahlia!" she said cheerfully. "Isn't the first day of school such a thrill? she asked sarcastically.

"Well obviously," I said with a socy, sarcastic, eye roll.

"Where are you headed off to, Doll?" she asked using my cheesy nickname 'doll' because it sounds like 'Dahl'.

"French," I said simply.

"Ah, oui. Avoir un grand temps," she said in near perfect French. She had already taken it for two years.

"I have no clue what you just said. So where are you going?" I asked.

"Stupid P.E.," she said.

"Sounds fun," I said sarcastically. "Well, I got to go, see you around," I said and started to walk away. The bell rang while I was still in the hallway but I didn't think it mattered considering there was multiple kids in the hallway. I laughed inwardly slightly as I saw all the freshman looking around wide-eyed like a deer in headlights.

I finally managed my way to my class room.

"Ah, bonjour, mademoiselle! What's your name?" the teacher asked. She looked young, almost too young to be a teacher. She probably understood pretty well the soc versus Greaser thing then, which only means she prefers one side versus another.

"Dahlia Collins," I said I said to her.

She looked at a paper in her hand. "Oui, you sit next to Steve Randle, behind James Plymouth. Two boys in the back flicked their heads up at mention of their names. I nearly choked when I realized that the boy I had to sit next to was car boy from the other day at the gas station.

I quietly took my seat. The way he looked at me I could tell her recognized me as well; after all, it was probably hard to forget about a girl who offered to help with cars, I mean, girls don't do that. I tried to listen to the teacher to avoid looking at the boy; Steve was his name.

"For those of you who have recently joined us, I am Madame Erin Cat. You are now in French One. Now that it looks like most of the class is here, we are going to do some exercises. I want you to talk to and get to know the people around you. Discuss how this activity will help you learn French. Go," she said.

I rolled my eyes. Now I had to talk to people, and I just wasn't a people person. I looked to my left, but the seat was empty, which left me with Steve, or the kid in front of me, James.

Just as Steve looked like he was about to start to talk, James turned around and started. "Hey, I think we should talk or something," he said almost sarcastically.

"Go 'head. Talk," Steve said.

"Well I'm James Plymouth," he started.

I let out the smallest giggle. "You have the last name of a car, man" I said.

James glared at me. "Yeah? What's your name?" he sneered.

"Dahlia Collins," I said with my head held high. I wasn't exactly the most talkative or outgoing person, but I was dignified, according to Amy, at times, I was slightly egotistical. I of course dismissed that, not liking the sound of it.

James snorted. "What kind of name is Dahlia?"

"The kind you name your girl," I shot at him.

James stared at me before cracking a half grin. "You're alright. So what about you pretty-boy?" he asked, turning his attention to Steve, spitting the word 'boy'.

"Pretty-boy?" he spat angrily at James.

"Sorry, ugly mug?" James asked with a sly grin.

"You guys are both such a delight," I said leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms.

"Sorry, I didn't know you expected all of the world to get along," Steve said. I noticed Steve had a very different, unique voice. It was soft, yet shard and bitter, full of wit.

"No, not at all. But do y'all really got to insult each other?" I asked. I wondered if these two boys went back. After all, they were both greasers, and greasers stuck together, and most greasers around here knew each other to some extent. Then again, they both could just be jack asses.

"Yes," James replied quickly with a grin.

"No," Steve said in an almost joking matter.

"Maybe," James added cracking a grin. "Shoot, maybe you're alright, too," he said.

Steve just merely raised one eyebrow. I noticed he avoided most eye contact and conversation with me. I felt that if he truly did recognize me, he avoided talking to me, hoping to avoid the subject of the gas station incident. He didn't have to worry none, even if he did talk to me, I wasn't one to bring up awkward past events. "You know, you're weird, you know that? I asked James.

"Nah, it's all strategy," he said, picking at his nails. "You see, seem mean so you ward off the weaker people. If they seem alright though, they're alright," he said.

"That is the most idiotic thing I have ever heard," Steve said. "Friends shouldn't be a matter of strategy," he said, leaning forward.

"It is when you're a Shepard," he said with a smile.

"Oh, so you're the new kid in the Shepard gang?" he asked.

"Yup! That's me," he said proudly.

"Hey, the Shepards," I said leaning forward again, regaining interest in the conversation. "They're a pretty wild outfit, right?" I asked. I had heard about the Shepards plenty of times. Mostly through Angela, but Tim Shepard knew almost everybody, it was hard not to hear about him, and Curly got arrested so much, you were always hearing about him, not to mention all the others in the gang had stories.

"Oh yeah, Tim is the roughest of us all, Curly next, even though he's only 14, but that's only because he knows his brother can get him out of a lot of trouble, and that kid has been to jail so many times already," he said.

"Curly an' Tim are always getting sent to jail. I don't think that's very good leadership," Steve said.

"Oh yeah? Well whose your leader then, pretty-boy?" James asked, glaring daggers at Steve. I didn't blame him, when you were in a gang you stuck up for each other.

"I ain't got one," he said slowly, almost unsure.

"You ain't got a gang?" James asked doubtfully.

"I'm in a gang. We just don't have a name, or a real set leader, and we don't fight over turf, tha's all," Steve said. "I'd think you'd know about considering us and the Shepards kind of have an alliance," he said with a sly smirk.

James looked like he was going to say something, but our teacher started talking again. "So, class, what's the reason?" she asked, looking around. I saw some kid raise his hand. He started to speak without the teacher asking him to.

"Because in order to learn French, you have to say it out loud, so we are getting to know each other so it will help us do our partner work," he finished. Everyone turned their attention to the boy who had just spoke. I even craned my neck to see. A boy was smirking victoriously. His hair was combed into an almost pompadour, he also had long sideburns.

The teacher looked at him disapprovingly. "Re-citing what I said the class before this when you were here instead of your other class hardly counts, Two-Bit," she said. Then addressing the whole class she said, "However, he is right."

Steve snorted, amused. "That guy is an idiot," James said, but I saw a small smile playing on his lips.

Something told me I might like French class this year.


End file.
